Broken, p.20
Broken, page 20
There was other information in the file, and he’d skimmed through it before taking the papers out and shoving them into his pocket. There was also a check for ten thousand dollars. All his. It was for “expenses,” but hell, what fucking expenses was he going to run into?
There would be another two hundred fifty thousand and all he had to do was make a phone call and tell one James Morgan that his wife was currently residing in St Louis, Missouri. Hell, if he could get her to Chicago, Quinn would net another two fifty.
All he had to do was make the call. But he couldn’t do it.
Not yet.
He had to look at Sara—Sarah—and know why.
Why she’d lied to him.
Why she had run away from her life.
Why she’d stolen from her husband.
Why she’d changed her name.
Why she’d made a half-assed attempt to change her appearance.
Why she was living off money made under the table.
Why she was hiding out in an apartment in St. Louis, Missouri, instead of living in some slick mansion in Chicago.
Why she’d lied . . .
“She didn’t really lie,” he told himself as he shot off the exit, weaving in and out of traffic.
Horns blared but he ignored them. Lights went from yellow to red and he just blasted through. He needed to get to the house. Needed to look Sarah in the eyes and have her tell him why.
God, he’d trusted her . . .
Fool. Stupid fucking fool.
He knew better than to trust people. He’d assumed she was on the run from something, but he hadn’t figured she was married.
A married woman.
A thief.
Fuck.
He slowed to take the turn and as he did, he caught sight of a familiar head of hair. Sarah—hotfooting it down the sidewalk, heading away from him, with a bag slung over her back and a bag rolling along behind her. Leaving.
Oh, hell no.
She sure as hell wasn’t leaving.
And not because of the fucking money he’d get once he made the call to her husband. Husband.
Quinn wanted answers, damn it. He had to have them. A muscle jerked in his jaw and he was having a hard time breathing—felt like he had a chain wrapped around his chest, drawing tighter and tighter, trying to choke the life out of him.
He started to speed up, but then he made himself stop. He needed a few minutes. It was pretty obvious she was leaving, and for good, so he’d just follow her, see where she was planning on going. Give himself a little bit of time to settle.
Get himself under control so when he confronted her, she wouldn’t have any clue about the huge, gaping hole she’d just put in his heart.
YOU can’t run forever.
She hadn’t wanted to run forever, but the one chance she had at stopping kept eluding her.
The words chased her as she made her way to the bus station. Chased her, haunted her, mocked her.
Even with those words echoing in her head, even with the memory of Quinn’s face with those somber, quiet eyes, she managed to get to the bus station without breaking down.
She got through the ticket line without breaking.
She even managed to hold it together for the first few minutes as she paced in endless circles, watching the clock tick away the minutes. But then, as the hour hand began to creep closer to the 3, it got harder and harder to hold the tears back.
They burned her eyes, lodged in her throat, threatened to choke her, and finally, she couldn’t fight it anymore. Dashing into the bathroom, she locked herself in a stall and broke down. Harsh, ugly sobs tore from her throat.
The tears blinded her. The pain deafened her. Lost in misery, minutes ticked away and by the time the storm of grief began to ease, her throat was sore, her eyes burned, and her head pounded.
She slipped out of the stall and hoped nobody had come in while she was indulging in her breakdown. Her hopes were dashed as a woman slipped out of the stall next to hers.
Studiously ignoring the other woman, Sara made her way to the sink, rolling her little carry-on behind her. The strap of her duffel was cutting into her skin, but she wasn’t about to take it off. She’d had one stolen before and if she hadn’t already learned the lesson of keeping her cash on her body, she might have been up a creek.
With a flick of her wrists, she turned on the tap and bent over the sink, splashing cold water in her face. A quick glance in the mirror told her that the water hadn’t done much to help, but at least there weren’t dried tear tracks on her face now.
She braced her hands on the sink and stared at her reflection. Red-rimmed, unhappy eyes stared back at her. Her mouth was unsmiling, her face was paler than normal. Her hair, that nondescript, drab brown, fell into her face and she shoved it back, fighting a wave of helpless anger.
She looked pretty much like shit.
Fitting, since that was precisely how she felt.
You can’t run forever.
The phone in her pocket vibrated and she heard the faint chime that signaled a text message. Pulling it out, she read the brief message: Where are you?
She keyed in a response. Bus station. Then she closed the phone and tucked it away. She’d have to get a new one soon—it was the first thing she should have done, but she hadn’t wanted to take the time today.
God only knew what kind of problems were behind this latest move and she had already lingered too long.
“God, I don’t want to do this,” she muttered, her voice raspy.
She wanted another option, wanted another way out, but she just didn’t know if there was one. She was so fucking tired of running. She just didn’t have much choice.
“Sometimes when you’re lost inside a problem, Sara, it can be very, very hard to see that there are other alternatives, other options. There’s almost always a way, darling.”
Theresa’s words started to circle around in her mind.
Lost inside a problem. That definitely described Sara’s current state. Lost inside a problem with no viable solution in sight.
You can’t run forever.
When this whole mess had started, some of the other options hadn’t seemed feasible. She’d been running high on worry and adrenaline and hadn’t taken the time she needed to slow down and evaluate things as well as she should have.
Now she felt like she’d travelled so far down the road that going back didn’t seem possible. If it was just her, it might be different—
The phone in her pocket chimed again, and with a grimace, Sara pulled it out and flipped it open. She read the message with narrowed eyes. Why haven’t you gotten a new phone?
Been a little bit busy hauling tail to get out of town. Feeling more than a little bitchy, she almost added in something else, but she stopped herself before she could do so. Being a bitch wasn’t going to change things. Pining over what she wasn’t meant to have wasn’t going to change things.
Of course, being stoic and just dealing with things as they came wasn’t changing things, either.
“Maybe I need to stop waiting for something to change,” she whispered, staring at the phone without really seeing it.
Time wasn’t doing the trick.
Running sure as hell wasn’t.
She was still lost inside the problem.
SHE’D been inside the restroom long enough that Quinn was starting to get tense. He checked out the surrounding area—the rest-rooms weren’t placed against an outside wall, so she wouldn’t be able to slip through a window or something equally dramatic. That was assuming she’d try, and she really didn’t have any reason to go for it.
She hadn’t realized he was following her. Quinn would have seen it if she’d made him and if by some slim chance she had realized he was following her, she had no way of knowing why.
She didn’t know that he knew.
Hell, Quinn wished he didn’t know.
He glanced at his watch. According to the lady he’d spoken with at the window, Sarah was leaving on the 3:20 to Kansas City. She still had an hour before the bus started boarding, so he’d give her a few more minutes. But if she wasn’t out soon, he’d be going in after her.
The door opened and he looked up, his eyes locking on the older woman coming out before moving off disinterestedly. Three more times, the door opened, and each time, it was somebody other than Sarah.
Shoving off the wall, he started across the hallway. Patience hadn’t ever been his strong suit—he could wait when he had to, but he was done with waiting now. Just before he reached the door, though, it opened, and Sarah stood there.
Her eyes widened.
Her jaw dropped.
“Quinn?” Something flashed through her eyes—there, then gone.
It looked like happiness, but Quinn knew better. Angling his head, he said, “Hello, Sarah.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, shifting from one foot to the other and fighting two very opposing urges. She wanted to hurl herself against him. She also wanted to slip away and get lost in the crowd. There was something about the way he watched her right now that made her very, very uneasy.
People milled around, not paying them any attention as Quinn closed the distance between them, not stopping until his booted feet nudged the toes of her worn tennis shoes.
“I’m kind of wondering the same thing about you,” he said. His eyes roamed over her face, as though he was searching for something.
“I guess you got my note.”
He lifted a brow.
She blushed and looked away. “Look, I’m sorry I have to leave like this. I wish I could explain . . .”
“You can. Just open your mouth and do it.”
She shot him a look from the corner of her eye. His face was cold, his gray eyes flat, his mouth a firm, unsmiling line. A muscle jerked in his cheek as he stared, and the weight of his gaze seemed to bore completely through her. “If it was that easy, I would have already done it, Quinn,” she said quietly. “How did you know I was here?”
“Saw you leaving Theresa’s.”
She blinked and frowned. He must have shown up while she was talking to Theresa, although she didn’t know how he could have done that without being noticed. “So you followed me here?”
He jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Following me seemed to be the right thing,” she echoed.
Actually, the right thing seemed to be grabbing her and hauling her close, dragging her back to his apartment, and locking the door. Throw away the phones. Trash the computer. Cut off any contact with the outside world—she couldn’t run away and nobody would be able to track her down.
That was what his heart was telling him to do.
His head was laughing, though. She’d completely fooled him, and he was still hung up on her. He glanced around them and scowled. Looking back at her, he said, “We need to talk.”
Understatement of the century.
She licked her lips and looked away. She was having the hardest time looking at him, he decided. She’d never had that problem until now, and it pissed him off even more.
Still, staring at her made his heart ache. Her dark brown eyes were red-rimmed, her ivory skin paler than normal.
“I’ve got a bus to catch soon, Quinn. Besides, there’s really not much to talk about. I have to leave. That’s all there is to say.”
He reached out and hooked his fingers in the waistband of her jeans, tugging her close. Giving in to the urge, he dipped his head and skimmed his lips over hers. “Is that really all there is to say?”
Sara shivered as his mouth brushed back and forth over hers. He had one hand on her hip, stroking lightly as the other came around her waist and urged her closer. He didn’t seem to care about all the people around them, and after about fifteen seconds of his touch, she didn’t care all that much either.
She wanted to press herself against him and cling tight. It had only been a couple of hours since she’d seen him, but they had seemed endless, her heart aching as she acknowledged the fact that she wouldn’t see him again.
But here he was. Watching her face with cold eyes . . . then touching her. Kissing her.
Wrenching herself away from him, she backed away. She almost tripped over her carry-on and righted herself just before she would have fallen into a couple of people walking along behind her. Steadying herself, she laid a hand on the duffel resting against her hip. “I have to go, Quinn. I really am sorry.”
He held something up.
Sara’s eyes widened as she realized it was her money—not all of it, but a decent chunk, the money she’d rolled up and tucked inside her front pocket. She never used a purse when she travelled. They were too easily stolen, too easily misplaced. She kept the money tucked inside various pockets or zipped up inside the special belt she wore around her waist.
Instinctively, she touched a hand to her right front pocket. It was empty. Gaping at him, she stared at the money he held in his hand. He’d fucking taken it out of her pocket while he kissed her! It was five thousand dollars, money she’d need over the next few months.
“You going to leave without this?”
“Give me the money,” she said.
“Sure. After we talk.” He tucked the money into his pocket, and she suspected she’d have a much harder time getting it away from him.
“You can’t just keep that money, Quinn,” she gritted out. “It’s called theft.”
Something flashed in his eyes and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. I heard something like that somewhere.” Then he shrugged and said, “Call 911. Bus station will probably have some cops close by, plus there’s onsite security.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to call 911. You just need to give me my money.”
“After we talk.”
SIXTEEN
“HAS there been any news?”
Don shook his head and swallowed, glad that James seemed preoccupied today. Preoccupied with something other than finding his wife.
It had been two days since the flyers had started going out. Already, James had spent more than a million dollars and they had yet to hear back from several of the agencies they’d contacted. When it was all said and done, the man could very well spend twenty times that in his search for his missing wife.
Of course, he could afford it.
Although Don might blanch at the figures, he knew that James could afford it and if he even missed the money, he’d make it up in little time. If nothing else, James Morgan knew how to make money.
“Well, it’s only been a few days. We can’t expect this to be a quick process,” James murmured, not bothering to look away from the screen. Whatever he was looking at held him suitably entranced.
“Of course not.” Don’s palms were sweating. He hadn’t had a chance to go through all the data he’d received, but so far, there had been very little that yielded any sort of potential. Very little.
But he couldn’t take comfort in that. James was casting his nets far and wide this time. Sooner or later, he’d land some fish.
Part of him insisted it was time he cut his losses and get the hell out of town.
But he couldn’t—those issues, again. Issues on a timetable and the clock was ticking.
WARILY, Sara followed Quinn into the hotel room. He barely looked at her, hadn’t spoken more than a few words since she’d left the restroom at the bus station nearly an hour earlier. She’d missed her bus.
She’d pointed that out to him and he’d just shrugged. “Exchange the ticket.”
“I wouldn’t have to exchange the ticket if we could have just talked back at the bus station.”
That hadn’t had any effect on him. He also hadn’t had any trouble using her cash to pay for the room at the Marriot in Union Station. “You know, you’ve got a perfectly good apartment thirty minutes from here,” she told him as she followed him down the ornate hallway. “There was no reason to use my money on a hotel room we don’t need.”
Quinn patted the pocket that held her remaining cash and shrugged. “It looks like you’re not really running low on money. Sure hope you remembered to pay Theresa her rent before you split.”
“Of course I paid her. What sort of person do you think I am?” she bit off, narrowing her eyes.
“Haven’t quite decided yet.” He stopped in front of a door and used the key card. It opened and he stood aside, holding the door open as he waited for her.
She passed close by him, close enough that she felt his body heat, his breath teased her hair, the scent of him flooded her senses. Damn it—her heart skipped a beat and then started to flutter within her chest as heat began to creep through her body.
He closed the door behind him and strode into the room, depositing her carry-on by the wall.
Sara remained by the door. The strap of her duffel was cutting into her skin and she slipped it off, dropping it to the floor. Her shoulder ached from the weight, and she absently reached up, rubbing the tense muscles and watching him.
He stood with his back to her, and although she couldn’t see his face, she could read his body language easily enough. He was pissed. Well beyond pissed, she suspected.
Tucking her hands behind her back, she stared and waited until he turned to look at her. “So exactly what is it that we need to talk about?” she asked.
“Why are you leaving?”
Sara lowered her gaze and studied the floor. “Because I have to,” she whispered. It was all she could say to him, at least right now. She couldn’t look into those cold eyes and explain that she’d left because she got a damned message saying Problems.
She could have said it earlier . . . she thought. If he’d shown up while she was packing . . . hell, even now if he wasn’t looking at her like he didn’t quite recognize her, she thought she could have maybe tried to explain. Maybe if he hadn’t made that jibe about Theresa. Maybe . . .
